


Will the World Remember You?

by AliceInOtherland



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse, Action, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artists, Basically Enjolras and Grantaire, Best Friends, Drink With Me, Emotional, Emotional Baggage, Enjolras definitely does not hate Grantaire, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I mean Hugo shipped e/R, I wouldn't write this if it wasn't worth reading, Law School, Love, M/M, Multi, New York City, One-Sided Relationship, Past Abuse, Sad, Students, There will be action, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInOtherland/pseuds/AliceInOtherland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Student Artist, Grantaire, is losing inspiration and hope while studying at one of the world's most prestigious art schools. He has severed ties with his family and cannot seem to find a connection with anyone; he is often drunk and is constantly finding himself in trouble.</p><p>Law Student, Enjolras, is pursuing his dream to create equality in a world of injustice, landing an internship at an important law firm. His family has disowned him, but his confidence and devotion keep him focused.</p><p>It is an unlikely union found in one of the most culturally diverse and overpopulated cities in the country: New York City.</p><p>Is it coincidence or destiny?</p><p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>Rating is subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matriculate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was light.

He inhaled deeply; his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back and stretched. The pencil hooked behind his ear clattered to the park bench he was sitting on; as he leaned over to pick it up, his sketch book flipped onto the ground.  
  
He sighed, tugging his gray beanie further down, covering his inken curls.  
  
“Grantaire!” a lean brunette jogged toward him, waving.  
  
His piercing blue eyes snapped up to the man approaching him, he chuckled.  
  
“Bahorel!” Grantaire flung his arms out dramatically to match the enthusiasm of his friend. He knocked his messenger bag over inadvertently.  
  
“It’s luck that you’re here! Did you want to go out later? Courf said he found this hot new café. And promised drinks. He also mentioned something about all of New York’s sexiest students hanging out there.” Bahorel winked.  
  
Chewing on his lip, Grantaire pondered this idea. He had to finish a series of sketches for his newest assignment, due tomorrow – Pratt being such an intensive school and all; but on the other hand he was tired of feeling bogged down. It wasn’t like he partied every night – he had not frequented a bar since Tuesday, and after all, it was now Thursday. He deserved a break.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he affirmed, grinning, “Jehan in?”  
  
Bahorel beamed, “I didn’t have a chance to ask.”  
  
Nodding his head, he shoved his things into his bag, “let’s head back to my dorm and ask. He might be there.”  
  
The brunette clapped his hand onto Grantaire’s shoulder as they headed back towards the campus.

\- - -

“Prouvaire, you’re here!”  
  
Jehan looked up from the book he was reading towards the doorway as his roommate and his friend trumbled in.  
  
“Yeah. I just wanted to get through this chapter. You know how my professors are.” His blue eyes sparkled, sunlight pooling into the room through half drawn shades.  
  
“So Bahorel was telling me about this café; want to go?”  
  
“Now?”  
  
“Now!” Bahorel exclaimed.  
  
“Let me get dressed then.” Jehan stood, dusting off his jean. He grabbed a mauve floral button up and pulled it on over his pale yellow shirt; shoving his feet into some brown shoes.  
  
Grantaire smirked and offered him a flower, which Jehan promptly tucked behind his ear.  
  
“’Taire, do you really think you’re going to pick up someone in that tattered, paint spattered shirt of yours?” Bahorel teased him as Jehan searched for his wallet.  
  
Grantaire glanced down at his shirt and yanked it off, opting for a black shirt and blue plaid flannel. The duo started back out of the room, walking down the hall.  
  
“Hey!” Jehan shouted as he locked the door, “Wait up!”

\- - -

Courfeyrac was right. The amount of beautiful people packed into the café was spectacular. Grantaire immediately headed toward the bar, dropping his messenger bag at his feet.  
  
“Coffee. Black.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter.  
  
The barista raised an eyebrow at him before turning to get him his drink, she set it on the counter in front of him with a pointed, “thank you.”  
  
He mumbled a “thanks” in response before pulling a flask out of his bag and spiking the coffee.  
Lifting the drink to his mouth, he finally took in the room; booth after booth filled with attractive students. There was a table with a freckled young ginger and two girls – a petite blonde and a womanly brunette, both gorgeous. Yet, what really caught his eye was the table with a trio of men.  
  
The auburn haired man with pointed features and the round-faced, dark haired man were of unimportance to him. It was the god between them that attracted all of his attention. Sapphire eyes glimmered in the dim light, as did his halo of golden locks, gently curling to frame his angled features. When he tipped his head in laughter, Grantaire marveled at his perfectly chiseled jawline and gentle slope of his nose.  
  
Courfeyrac startled him, “I found the perfect guy for you!”  
  
His coffee tipped, scathing his hand, “Shit! Who? What?” Grantaire glared at Courf.  
  
“Well, he’s an artist like you…”  
  
Courf’s drabble faded away as Grantaire refocused on the god across the room; his shirt the colour of passion and lust, glowing as the man fervently spoke with his friends.  
  
 _Motherfucking Apollo is sitting in a café with me. Where did he come from?_  
  
“Who the hell are you staring out?” Courf shouted a bit loudly.  
  
The sculpture of a man raised his eyes, locking with Grantaire’s. He blushed and looked away.  
  
It was too late, Courfeyrac has traced his line of vision, and was grinning, “Ah. Enjolras. Premium law student at NYU.”  
  
“Shh!” Grantaire tried to cover his mouth as he made to call him over. “Go find some quick fuck or something. Check the ginger’s table! I bet he can share!”  
  
Upon inspection of the referenced table he spoke, “That’s Marius, my roommate. Though… I’ve never seen that bodacious…” His voice trailed off as he slid into the booth next to the brunette, making introductions for himself.  
  
Grantaire turned back to the bar, his head cradled in his hands.  
  
“Can I get another espresso?” A deep musical voice rumbled beside him.  
  
In his peripheral, Grantaire saw the black pants, lifting his head he traced his eyes back up to the man’s face; nearly dying when he saw that it was the god from across the room.  
  
“’Course, hon. I’ll get you another of Combeferre and Lesgle’s regular as well.”  
  
“That’d be great, thank you.” He thanked the barista before taking notice of Grantaire. “Where’d Courf disappear to?”  
  
Heart in his throat, Grantaire stammered, “Oh, er, h-he headed over to th-that table over there.”  
  
“Pontmercy,” the man rolled his eyes, “I’m Enjolras, by the way.” He offered his hand.  
  
Shaking it, Grantaire responded in kind, giving his name.  
  
Enjolras straddled the stool next to Grantaire, “How do you know Courf?”  
  
“Bahorel met him when he was partying at bars most nights.”  
  
“It’s a wonder how he manages to stay in school.” Enjolras cleared his throat, “So are you a student?”  
  
“Erm… Yeah. I-I’m an artist.” Grantaire started, “At Pratt Institute.”  
  
“You must be good then.”  
  
“Yeah… I’m in illustration with a minor in painting… Where do you er… Matriculate?”  
  
 _Wait… What? Matriculate?_ Grantaire chastised himself.  
  
The corners of Enjolras’ mouth twitched amusedly, “I’m a law student at New York University.”  
  
“Coffee’s up.” The barista smirked, setting the order down in front of the boys.  
  
“Thanks Muse’,” Enjolras smiled, standing.  
  
“Got you a refill too,” she told Grantaire.  
  
“Care to join us?” Enjolras gestured to his friends.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Hello,” the auburn haired man welcomed him, “I’m Combeferre. Pleased to meet you.”  
  
“Er… Grantaire.”  
  
“Lesgle,” the round-faced man leaned back in his chair.  
  
“We were just celebrating Enjolras’ acceptance as an intern at Javert  & Inspector Law Firms.” Combeferre explained, setting his coffee down.  
  
“I only got the internship because of Lesgle.” He protested modestly.  
  
“It wasn’t hard to get you the job with your legacy.” Lesgle joked.  
  
Enjolras crossed his legs, “It helps that it’s where you interned.”  
  
“That’s… a prestigious firm.” Grantaire interjected.  
  
“What do you do?” Combeferre asked.  
  
“I’m an artist.”  
  
“At Pratt.” Enjolras added.  
  
“Wow. You must be very skilled then.”  
  
“Not really… I mean…”  
  
“You’ll have to show us your work sometime.”  
  
“Maybe.” Grantaire fiddled with the strap of his bag.  
  
Jehan made his way over to Grantaire, “Hey R, I think I’m going to head back to campus…”  
  
“What? Why—you know what? I’ll go with you.” He glanced toward Courf, his arm wrapped around the brunette with Marius, “I gotta go, guys.”  
  
Combeferre gave a slight nod. “See you ‘round.”  
  
“Bye.” Enjolras peered down at his coffee.  
  
“Congrats on the internship!”  
  
Enjolras flashed a bright smile at Grantaire, “Thank you!”  
  
Grantaire saluted the group as he and Jehan left.  
  
“That was uncharacteristic of you, Enj.” Combeferre fixed his gaze on his best friend.  
  
“Oh shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> This is going to be multi-chaptered, but I am not sure of the chapter count yet. I am writing as it comes to me.
> 
> Don't worry, I promise there will be a lot of cute and angsty Enjolras/Grantaire moments. This is only the first chapter, after all.
> 
> Next chapter should be posted potentially later today.


	2. Judge a Book by its Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire cannot recall some of his drunken antics and runs into some of the people he met last night.

“He’ll never notice me!” Jehan sobbed.  
  
Grantaire furrowed his brows, frowning. He gently rubbed his best friend’s back. “Courf is just… too spastic to really be serious. It’s not that he doesn’t notice you. I think he just… He’s such a flirt that he never realizes you’re being genuine when you flirt back.”  
  
“I should just stop trying.” He wailed.  
  
Sighing, Grantaire stood up; he was still shell-shocked from seeing the sun god himself. He grabbed a beer from their mini-fridge, “Want one?”  
  
Jehan shook his head and curled up on his side, pulling his blankets over him. “’Night R.”  
  
He pulled one of his sketchbooks from his bag before chugging his beer and starting on a second. Soft pencil strokes slowly took shape as an ethereal figure. He absentmindedly pulled out a blue watercolor pencil, shading the focused eyes. Before he realized it, it was a portrait of Enjolras; clothed in a red waistcoat with golden trim. Regal posture.  
  
Still lucid, Grantaire scribbled his signature, an “R” with a flourish; then flipped the page over, starting another sketch. He cracked another beer open.  
  
Page after page was filled with Enjolras – until, frustrated, he ripped out the most recent, crumpling it. He settled on drawing Pylades. Yet, soon enough, he added Oresetes to the mix and the couple morphed into an uncharacteristically ugly Oresetes and a Pylades looking more of a modern day Apollo. Grantaire had drawn himself with Enjolras.  
  
Ugly. Unbefitting of his lover, Pylades.  
  
Grantaire ran a frustrated fist through his mess of hair, before tossing his umpteenth beer into the recycling bin that Jehan had insisted they get for their dorm. He set his head down on his sketchbook in surrender, groaning loudly. Jehan snored in response.  
  
As his mind drifted off, images of a determined man, standing at a podium filled his thoughts. He spoke with such passion, with elegant hand gestures – like a well-choreographed dance. The voice fell into an easy rhythm, a sonata rising and falling in dynamic. Powerful. Impactful. Grantaire stood before him, mesmerized; and drunk.  
  
\- - -  
  
When Grantaire awoke, he was not in his dorm. He was on a bench, curled up with his plaid shirt mashed under his head as a makeshift pillow. Last night’s turn of events were unrecovered.  
  
“Excuse me, is this yours?” a vaguely familiar brunette offered him his sketchbook, which must fallen aside last night.  
  
“Mmm?” Grantaire grunted as he slowly sat up, stretching. His back cracked.  
  
“This sketchbook. Is it yours?” the voice repeated, irritated, “You’re quite remarkable, you know.”  
  
“Huh? Hey! That’s mine,” he was suddenly more than oriented. He studied the beauty before him; she had long dark hair, and warm honey eyes. Her eyebrows were delicate, like a bird’s wings – her skin caramel.  
  
“Wasn’t he at the Musain last night? And, for that matter, weren’t you?” she continued, sitting next to Grantaire.  
  
“Yeah… I was there. You were with… uhm…”  
  
“Marius,” she swooned, “I’ve loved him for forever.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Are you and Enjolras close?” the girl asked.  
  
“N-no! I just met him last night.”  
  
“Is that so? You have a lot of sketches of him…” Her eyes lit up, “Oh, I get it. You’re smitten.” She grinned lazily.  
  
“Who are you anyway?” Grantaire sneered.  
  
“The name’s Éponine. My parents are two of the caretakers here.”  
  
 _Well that explains why I’ve never seen you in any of my classes. The ones I attended anyway…_  
  
“What was that?”  
  
 _Did I just say that aloud?_  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Anyway, don’t you have class?” Éponine queried.  
  
Grantaire jumped to his feet, “Shit. What time is it?”  
  
“Half passed eleven.”  
  
Suddenly remembering his hangover, he recoiled as the sun peeked out from behind the city smog.  
  
“Fuck. I have to go. I’ll see you ‘round, Éponine.”  
  
He stumbled back toward his dorm, popping some aspirin and diving into the shower before he realized he had never reclaimed his sketchbook.  
  
“Well that was a waste of a sketchbook assignment,” he muttered as he dragged himself out of the shower to get dressed and head off to class. “Guess I shouldn’t have bothered doing it. Fucking waste of time. I can’t even turn it in.”  
  
Grantaire yanked on a burgundy beanie over his still damp curls as he threw on a charcoal shirt and skinny jeans; slipping into his green converse as he jogged down the hall.  
  
Éponine was sitting on the same bench as before when Grantaire passed by.  
  
“You forgot your sketchbook!” She called mockingly, raising her hand, with a drink of some sort in it.  
  
He approached, “Yeah…” he scratched the back of his head, “I’m a right idiot for that.”  
  
“You still look a mess. You want my coffee?”  
  
He cocked a doubtful brow; she huffed.  
  
“It’s not like it’s drugged. Geezus. Way to judge a book by its cover.”  
  
“Sorry.” Grantaire gratefully took the items.  
  
“You should probably get to class.”  
  
\- - -  
  
After the one class Grantaire actually made it to, he exited Pratt’s campus, navigating toward the subway. He wanted to go back to Manhattan. Brooklyn was too claustrophobic for him. Everything he drew, he felt, was utter shit.  
  
He got off the subway and made his way to The Met, flashing his student I.D. as he entered. Settling down in front of some works that caught his eye, Grantaire began to sketch. His eyes jumped from his canvas to the masterpiece before him and back. The lines flowed evenly, fluid – perfect. But not good enough for him.  
  
“Pratt must have jumped when they came across your portfolio. Bet you have a full ride, don’t you?”  
  
Grantaire whipped around, “Combeferre.”  
  
“Heh, yeah. I startled you. Didn’t I?”  
  
“What’re you doing here?”  
  
“I decided to come here to supplement my thesis for my philosophy course. I thought I might feel empowered here or something like that… Anyway, about Pratt…”  
  
“I’m there for free… I wouldn’t be able to attend otherwise.”  
  
“May I see?” Combeferre meant to take the book.  
  
Grantaire nearly handed it over, before hesitating, remembering the pages filled with sketches of Enjolras. “Not this one. None of the sketches in this one are finished.”  
  
Fishing another one out of his pack, he shoved it toward Combeferre.  
  
“There you are,” a tenor’s voice echoed. It was the one and only Apollo.  
  
“Yeah, sorry, I just wanted to see what was over here,” Combeferre briefly looked up from the book of Grantaire’s rough art. It was a series, containing page after page of Greek gods and muses.  
  
Enjolras studied the works as well over Combeferre’s shoulder, before addressing Grantaire. “That’s fantastic.”  
  
“Thanks Apollo,” Grantaire spoke before he could think.  
  
“Apollo?” Enjolras drew back.  
  
“Enjolras is just such a mouthful… I… I just- You need a nickname I think.”  
  
 _Can I not form normal speech around this guy? For the love of…_  
  
“I prefer Enjolras.” He asserted.  
  
“Sorry.” Grantaire blushed.  
  
“’Ferre, want to head to the Musain to get some coffee? I bet you have enough notes by now.”  
  
“Sure,” Combeferre returned Grantaire’s book. “You have a lot of talent.”  
  
Grantaire shrugged as he kneeled to put the book away. His other sketchbook slipped from his grasp, the loose leaf sheets that he scribbled on, drunk, last night littering the floor.  
  
 _Shit, fuck, motherfucking... ___  
  
“Are… Is that supposed to be me?” Enjolras looked positively puzzled as he crouched to gather the mess.  
  
 _Aaaannd now I’m the psycho-obsessive stalker… or overly possessive girlfriend. Not sure which is worse._  
  
“Let’s go.” Enjolras forced the papers at Grantaire before turning promptly and hurrying towards the exit, “Combeferre!” he called over his shoulder.  
  
“Coming!” Combeferre faced Grantaire a moment, “we should meet up for coffee sometime. Here’s my number.”  
  
Combeferre pulled a scrap of paper from his notepad, scribbling his phone number onto it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get better at formatting this, I swear! It's just annoying to have to back and add in line breaks so it looks pretty. I know the text looks really blocky. :(
> 
> Anyway, feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I'll probably continue this a while, regardless. I want to finish a fic for once in my life. (In my life....)
> 
> Right now I have no idea where I'm going with this. I have an overall plot, but not specific chapters planned out. The ending might shock you whenever we get there.
> 
> I promise Grantaire and Enjolras are going to be all cute and angsty! Just give it another chapter or two. Combeferre gave Grantaire his number, so clearly hope is not lost! :D
> 
> I'll try to post another chapter tomorrow.


	3. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire clutches at the number that has been burning a hole in his pocket...

The bottle clattered to the floor, the glass shattering into hundreds of crystal shards. Rainbow refracted onto the walls, the early-morning light reflecting within the diamonds.  
  
Moaning softly, Grantaire rolled onto his side. He was still dressed in his clothes from last night, shoes and all. His raven tresses were sticking up every which way; wine staining the sheets beside him.  
  
Jehan did his best to move quietly, as to not disturb Grantaire. He slicked back his hair, as he searched for ibuprofen, water, and a clean mug. After turning on the coffee maker, he set a glass of water beside the pain killers on Grantaire’s night stand. The soft spoken poet was used to having to nurse Grantaire “the morning after.” It was nearly tradition at this point: Grantaire would have an emotional breakdown, drink to drown the pain, and stumble back to their dorm with all the grace and silence of a fire truck.  
  
If he had no past with Grantaire, he would not be able to understand his deep emotional turmoil; but since he had known Grantaire forever, he could not help but feel a pang of sympathy every time the man was distressed.  
The drawer of Grantaire’s bureau made a faint, rusty, squeak as Jehan opened it. Today he selected a plain red shirt and dark denim jeans for Grantaire. He folded them and left them near the aspirin and water. Smiling sadly, Jehan left for his writing class.  
  
“Jehan?” Grantaire grumbled as he came to a little while later. “Hello? …Fuck. My head.”  
  
As he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up, he experienced a brief moment of vertigo. Glass crunched beneath the soles of his shoes.  
  
“Oh hell. It’s too early for this shit.” He clambered over to grab some coffee; then seemed to remember the ibuprofen that Jehan left out. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Grumbling, he grabbed the clothes Jehan left for him, “For chris’sake…. He’s a fucking house maid” he drawled.  
  
Somewhere in his room, his phone beeped quietly. Grantaire sifted through a few piles of clothes before finally recovering the phone from one of his pairs of pants’ pocket.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“R? Where are you?” Feuilly sounded anxious.  
  
“My dorm. Just woke up. Hung-over as fuck.”  
  
“Well that sucks, but I need those designs you helped me plan for my sculpture. You said you’d drop them yesterday but never did…”  
  
Grantaire zoned out, only catching the last bit of his rant.  
  
“It’s due tomorrow.” Feuilly paused. “Grantaire? Are you there? Hello?!”  
  
“Yeah, yup. I’m here.” He yawned.  
  
“Can I pick them up?”  
  
“I can… I can drop them by your studio. Give me thirty?”  
  
“You are going to be here within an hour? I can trust you on this?”  
  
Grantaire muttered a response as he snapped his phone shut. He dressed with about as much grace as an elephant in an attempt to hurry – trying to smooth his wild hair before giving in and yanking on one of his many beanies. He nearly forgot his sketchpad as he darted down the hall, arriving to the junior class studio space in record time.  
  
Feuilly barely glanced up as his friend bounded in. He squinted through his thickly rimmed glasses at some intricate, three dimensional wire sculpture before him. Grantaire observed the sculpture from behind his friend: a magnificent angelic creature holding a limp, graceful body in its arms. Mourning.  
  
“That looks great, Feuilly. Must have taken you hours.”  
  
“It did… It took me years to figure out the layout and then to sculpt the bodies and faces.”  
  
Chuckling Grantaire replied snidely, “you got that project last week. It’s amazing though, I’m impressed.”  
  
“I suppose. Well, anyway, I need those designs.” Feuilly slid his glasses off and tucked a wavy lock of hair back behind his ear. “I never would have been able to come up with an idea for a historical sculpt. Your idea about the June Rebellion was pure genius.”  
  
“Consider it, it was students like us in that uprising.”  
  
You mean students like me and Jehan?” Feuilly stuck his tongue out, teasing Grantaire. “I doubt a cynic such as you would have believed in revolutionary bullshit.”  
  
R smirked, “I could maybe be persuaded to believe in something.”  
  
“With a little help from your alcohol?”  
  
“Now, now. That’s unfair. I’ll have you know, my alcohol makes me more stubborn. I’m no happy-go-lucky, pushover drunkard. I manage to maintain my class.”  
  
“Class? You’ve lost it, kid. Anything resembling class that you may have ever had was gone the moment you drunk called Montparnasse to tell him that you had a crush on him – which I thought was drunken blabber, but I guess you were serious.”  
  
Grantaire laughed, pulling out his sketchbook; a small fragment of paper floated to the floor. He picked it up, recognizing it as Combeferre’s number; then stuffed it into his pocket.  
  
“That was years ago – back in high school. You can’t blame me. He’s gorgeous. His silky black hair; and fine features. Geezus…”  
  
“Reminiscing about those few months that you two dated?”  
  
“Not really. I moved on. He was an abusive prick.”  
  
“Glad to hear.” Feuilly sounded disinterested, flipping through designs that he and R had worked out. “These are fantastic. Thanks so much.”  
  
“Sure. Anytime.” Grantaire slunk back outside, punching Combeferre’s number into his phone as he walked. He had an overwhelming urge to talk to the man. It rang twice and then picked up.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Combeferre? It’s Grantaire.”  
  
“Did you want to meet up for coffee?”  
  
“That sounds great.”  
  
“Meet you in twenty?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise my chapters are going to get longer. I'm still technically sort of on the intro. I've never been a fan of really long chapters anyway. Even still.
> 
> Schoolwork is killing me; I'm trying to update and rate as much/as often as I can.


	4. Classics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which coffee goes well.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> "Haven’t you just ever felt that, sometimes, things are maybe just meant to be?”
> 
> “I think you’re letting your philosophy courses get to you. You’re thinking too deeply about this.” He stuck his tongue out at Combeferre.
> 
> “Tell you what; I’ll make you a bet.”

As Grantaire approached the Musain, he was struck by a wave of doubt. What was he doing? He barely knew this man – nor the one who had been consuming his thoughts since the night he first saw him. It was a mere stroke of luck running into him at The Met.  
  
 _Or was it destiny?_ Grantaire wanted to slap himself. _Damn it, R. Are you getting soft? Losing your damn cynicism? Over what? A fucking man? The most beautiful man I have ever seen…_  
  
He chuckled softly, how pathetic to have such an argument with oneself.  
  
The bells above the door jingled softly as he slipped into the café and over toward the, to him, infamous bar. From the exasperated look that the barista gave Grantaire, he could only conclude it was the same woman from that night.  
  
“What can I get for you?” she placed her hands on her hips, her brow narrowed and there was a slight downturn of her smile.  
  
“Surprise me, thanks.” He minded his manners.  
  
When she came back, she handed him a cup to go. “You looking for Combeferre?”  
  
Grantaire nodded as he gratefully took the coffee with a slight bow of his head, “mhmm.”  
  
She lifted her chin toward the back corner of the café, “over there sweetheart.”  
  
He half smiled at the barista as he turned and walked over to Combeferre, engrossed in a book.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey, Grantaire.” He closed his book, setting it down, then lacing his hands together on top of it.  
  
“What’s up?” Grantaire slipped into the book with ease as his frame was petite but lean.  
  
“Just taking a break. My classes are over for the day; figured that I’d read for fun.”  
  
“Aeneid?” He quirked a brow, “For fun?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Hey, to each his own. I studied classics in high school. I was just surprised. I figured you’d have read this or its equivalent by now.”  
  
“Not in my major.”  
  
“I see.” Grantaire lifted his coffee to his lips, recoiling as the liquid burnt his tongue.  
  
“May I inquire as to the incident at the museum the other day— ”  
  
Flushing, Grantaire responded, “I’m just really into classics and Enjolras reminded me of Apollo and I just… I was drunk and felt the need to paint him. Not him. But y’know, Apollo and so… It was a big mistake. I should have burned those sketches.” He was practically face-palming.  
  
“God no. I think Enjolras was simply taken aback.” Combeferre was laughing. “Maybe he was a bit weirded out at first. But after we left, he commented that your work was, how did he put it, ‘impeccable.’ I think he was a bit flattered.”  
  
“Really? I was mortified.”  
  
“Enjolras just needs to let go sometimes. He’s been acting so seriously since he was chosen for that internship. He needs to loosen up; he just doesn’t know how to.”  
  
Grantaire stared blankly, confused.  
  
“I was hoping you would call. I just… When the incident happened, I thought that maybe you’d be able to help him relax. I saw one of those portraits and his expression was simply serene.”  
  
“You think that someone who is essentially a stranger to you would be able to… fix him?”  
  
“Not ‘fix...’ None of this makes any sense. I just… Enjolras acts differently around you. I’ve known him for years. When he looked up and saw you the first time, he made an excuse to introduce himself to you. He said he was going to get drinks. He’s so closed off; Lesgle and I were taken aback.”  
  
“Huh.”  
  
“Haven’t you just ever felt that, sometimes, things are maybe just meant to be?”  
  
“I think you’re letting your philosophy courses get to you. You’re thinking too deeply about this.” He stuck his tongue out at Combeferre.  
  
“Tell you what; I’ll make you a bet.”  
  
“On?” Grantaire tentatively took another sip of his drink.  
  
“That you can get Enj to loosen up.”  
  
“Terms?”  
  
“You take Enjolras out.” Combeferre stated.  
  
“Got that. And?”  
  
Combeferre shook his head, “That’s the bet.”  
  
Grantaire leaned back in his seat, ruminating such a simple proposition. “I suppose I could do that.” He murmured.  
  
“Great.” Combeferre glanced at his watch, “He’s probably leaving now. His internship gets out around three. He works seven to three and usually stops to get coffee on his way back to his apartment.”  
  
Taking out a paper scrap, Combeferre jotted down an address, “if you leave here now, you could probably catch him leaving. He usually stops at Starbucks though.”  
  
Grantaire nodded, “Fair enough.”  
  
The door jingled as it opened and shut again.  
  
The subway arrived on time.  
  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
  
Grantaire saw Enjolras enter the Starbucks as he navigated the unfamiliar streets. He pulled his beanie further down over his ears. The mid-April air was chilled. When he reached the coffee shop and entered, Enjolras was already seated, sipping on something while going through a stack of papers; reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.  
  
He hesitated before he approached Enjolras.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Enjolras pushed his glasses up, “Hello.”  
  
“May I sit?”  
  
“I suppose.”  
  
“How’s your internship going?”  
  
The face of the man opposite Grantaire lit up.  
  
“It’s fantastic. I may be basically doing secretary work at the moment, but Javert gave me a case file to look over. Maybe I’m doing something right. I’m hoping I can start working on actual cases soon.”  
  
“That’s great!” Grantaire found himself smiling.  
  
Conversation flowed fairly easily. They discussed Enjolras’ internship, politics and justice.  
  
Finally Grantaire asked him. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”  
  
Enjolras’ brow furrowed, “I have a term paper due on Wednesday next week. I already have fifteen pages written and an appendix, but— ”  
  
“It sounds to me like you’re free, to me. I’ll pick you up at seven?”  
  
He doubtfully agreed and gave Grantaire his address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really busy lately. If I don't have time to sit and write chapters all at once they end up bad. I forget where I was going with them and such.
> 
> At least Enjolras and Grantaire are going on a date next chapter. Something to look forward to! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> This is going to be multi-chaptered, but I am not sure of the chapter count yet. I am writing as it comes to me.
> 
> Don't worry, I promise there will be a lot of cute and angsty Enjolras/Grantaire moments. This is only the first chapter, after all.
> 
> Next chapter should be posted potentially later today.


End file.
